


Possessive

by Hoodoo



Category: Beetlejuice (1988), Beetlejuice - All Media Types
Genre: Anger, Begging, Blue Balls, Cunnilingus, Denial, F/M, Finger Sucking, Light Bondage, Masturbation, Non-Graphic Violence, Possessive Behavior, Tired of the ghost's behavior, Whining, implied threats of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2021-02-08 01:44:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21468019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoodoo/pseuds/Hoodoo
Summary: Jealousy is kind of a default setting for Beetlejuice. Sometimes he needs reminded it’s just not appropriate.
Relationships: Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/Reader, Beetlejuice (Beetlejuice)/You, Beetlejuice/Originial Female Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 187





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A request: Can you please write another jealous!beetlejuice fic where it leads to some smuttiness like him eating the reader out but with the line 'I dont care if you don't trust him, you should trust me.'  
This takes place after and has minor references to [Bad Date](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21269390).

You hadn’t minded at first. You thought it was sweet, and made you feel warm and protected. But Beetlejuice’s possessiveness-–encouraged by you, you knew that, you were the one who kind of started the whole thing by calling on him to get you out of a bad date!–-grew and was quickly getting out of control.

He wanted to know when you were coming home. He wanted to know who you were going to be with. He wasn’t against trailing you or snooping on you. It was invasive and rude and you came to realize you didn’t like it in the least.

The final straw was him interrupting a pleasant meal you’d been having and shutting down an entire restaurant when he spied you having dinner with a man he didn’t know. All the patrons and staff escaped as fire ate the building; in the chaos on the street afterward with the fire engines and flashing lights and ambulances and upset, sobbing, ash-covered people, you’d heard someone say it was a safety violation to store flammable materials under the grill, and there were lots of acceleratants in the kitchen as well. 

You knew better. You’d seen a ghostly rendition of Beetlejuice’s face, grinning wildly, in the flames that engulfed the roof before it disappeared in a shower of sparks.

Once you’d been checked out by the EMTs and allowed to return home, you were as hot as the inferno.

Still, you tried to keep your anger reined in. You stunk of smoke; your dress was going to need some serious dry-cleaning or just thrown away. You stomped into your strangely quiet house and went immediately into the shower. It took several repeated washings to get the smell out of your hair. Then you stood under the hot spray of water for a solid ten minutes, trying to make it wash the memory of the evening away too. 

Finally you turned off the water and stepped out. You towel dried and stared at the hazy image yourself in the steamed over mirror. Something flickered behind you in the reflection, but you didn’t wipe the glass clear to see exactly what it was. 

You knew who it was anyway. 

You ignored him.

Leisurely you dried your hair. Leisurely you continued your prepping for bed routine. It actually made you calmer to know that being ignored was probably more annoying to him than confronting him outright. By the time you left the bathroom, you felt collected.

Beetlejuice popped up in front of you as you entered your bedroom. He managed to look smug and angry at the same time. 

“So you gonna tell me who that breather was, babe?”

That calm, collected feeling you’d managed to conjure evaporated.

“What the actual fuck, _Beetlejuice?!”_ you snarled at him. The emphasis on his full name did not go unnoticed. 

“Easy on the B word, doll,” he told you, holding a hand out, an annoyed scowl twisting his face. “I understand you might be upset, but listen, I’m not too happy either–-”

_“Beetlejuice!”_ you spit again, and that really got his attention.

Now he held both hands up, like he was being cornered by a pissed off animal, and soft, sweet talking was going to calm the beast down. It was rare you saw him truly frightened, but the threat of his name being said three times in a row did it. The hard edges on his face faded, and he looked only seconds away from panicking.

“Easy, easy, baby, baby doll,” he murmured. “No need for that, okay? Okay? I’m sorry, we should just talk, I know that it got a little out of control–-”

_“A little out of control?!”_ you yelled.

The panic in Beetlejuice subsided, now that you’d interrupted yourself. 

“Yeah, okay, so maybe taking the whole place down in flames wasn’t the best judgement-–”

_Wasn’t the best judgement?!”_

He was used to you being relatively level-headed. And despite his antics, he was used to being able to calm you down. When you remained angry, he bristled too. 

“Well, you were with some other guy. Again,” he threw back at you, like this statement of fact was the ace up his sleeve, like it was the final say in the matter. “You told me you wouldn’t do that again! You told me you wanted to be with me, that you were mine!”

You took a deep breath and held it, mentally trying to count to ten. You wanted to scream at him that you weren’t just an object, that you weren’t just his special rare precious jewel that was his and his only. You wanted to scream that you were your own person. That yes, you wanted to be with him, and you weren’t such a jerk that you’d just randomly date another person! You weren’t sure, however, that any of that would get through his thick skull.

So you looked him dead in the eyes and said, “I wasn’t on a _date._ That guy I was having dinner with is my cousin.”

Whatever the next words he’d been waiting to snap back at you died. The look of dawning realization–-that you hadn’t ‘cheated’ on him, that he jumped to a dumb conclusion and made a gigantic mistake–-crossing his face should have made you feel better. It should have vindicated you. If the roles were reversed, you knew Beetlejuice wouldn’t hesitate to gloat.

But that wasn’t you. You were still angry and hurt. As the ghost began stuttering out a whiny, “I didn’t know!” excuse, you shoved him out of your way to get into your bedroom. You turned on your heel to stare directly at him again as he continued to try and back pedal on what he’d said, and you slammed the door in his face. 

_tbc … _


	2. Chapter 2

Later that night, Beetlejuice slunk into your room. You hadn’t been asleep; you’d been tossing and turning from all the thoughts swirling through your head: the scariness of being in a fire, the anger when you realized what had caused it, the frustration that you weren’t sure you could make him understand how he stepped over a line--

When he dropped down on the bed beside you, you briefly considered pretending to be asleep.

“Babe? Babe? Babe?” he asked on repeat. 

You sighed. 

“What, Beej?”

“It, ah . . . it makes me angry when I see you with other guys . . .” he whispered, like you didn’t know. 

“Yeah?” you replied loudly. “I don’t live in a bubble, Beej. I _won’t_ live in a bubble! Half the population is men! I can’t never talk to them!”

Light from the streetlamps outside made it just bright enough for you to see him, but not his expression. From the way he squirmed a little, however, you knew he was struggling with being apologetic and his baser instincts, which told him to be more aggressive and argue back. 

“I know . . .” he conceded, reluctantly. “I just . . . I just. I just want you all to myself, and when there’s someone else . . .”

You sighed again. You knew his reasons, but that didn’t make it right. 

“It was my _cousin,_ Beej. Not some random guy!”

His voice hitched to the same petulant whine as before. “Well how was I supposed to know?”

“You could just _ask!”_ you spit back. 

Beetlejuice jumped at the venom in your voice, but brushed it off quickly. 

“Maybe--” he mused, in a different tone, in a huskier, deeper tone, “--maybe you need a little reminder of what I can do for you, and then you’ll know how much you mean to me, and how much want me . . .”

You were already on your back, so it wasn’t much effort on his part to pull his infamous ‘make the bedcovers disappear while skeletal hands grab your wrists to keep you in place’ trick. Although the lighting was still poor, now you could see the flash of a leer on his face. A chilly hand slipped down your front, tickling as it went.

You bared your teeth. 

“Beetlejuice, _no!”_ you roared. 

You twisted with more intent than you ever had in these restraints before, and to both his and your surprise, the strength of your determination flipped the tables on the situation. In the next second you were free, and the hands grasped his wrists instead, pinning him to the mattress. Somehow the force of your rage stripped him, too, just as he would have done to you.

You’d have savored the look of shock on his face if you weren’t so angry. 

“Whoa, babe, what do you think you doing--”

“You want sex right now?” you demanded, interrupting him. “You think that you coming in here, with barely a half-assed apology and then pinning me down to have your way with me is going to make it all better? Huh? Is that what you think?”

“Hey now, babe, I thought we always had make-up sex after a fight! It’s good, isn’t it? Everyone’s aroused, that gets translated into a bodily workout, and we have a great time and get off--”

“Maybe not tonight,” you interrupted again. 

Reaching over him, you snapped on the bedside table lamp. It made you squint for a moment, but when your eyes adjusted you liked seeing Beetlejuice stretched out on your mattress, at your mercy. You could show him that he didn’t have control over you.

The ghost tugged at the hands holding him. “What do you mean, maybe not tonight?”

“I mean, yes. You’re right. We usually have make-up sex. But tonight, maybe you don’t get any.”

Confusion crossed his face. Before he could ask more, before you could talk yourself out of it, you swung a leg over him to straddle his stomach. His gaze darted up you, and a smirk lifted on side of his mouth. 

You ignored that. You dragged a hand down your front, copying the touch he’d given you earlier, but didn’t end at your belly. You let it snake further down, to your pussy. Your fingers slipped along it, your middle finger parting your folds and the heat between them. You gasped a little at the sensation and explored further. 

The finger dipped easily inside you. It wasn’t enough to be incredibly pleasurable, but your hand position did put more pressure on your clit, which was. You moaned and pushed down on yourself. 

Although he couldn’t see exactly what you were doing to yourself, Beetlejuice’s eyes were riveted to your groin. It startled him, then, when you pulled your hand away from yourself and, without warning, shoved your fingers in his mouth.

Three of them went in, knuckles deep. Beetlejuice jerked a little, at the unexpected force behind it, but relaxed and took them in as best he could. You let him lick them without any help by moving them out for a moment, then took them away and fingered yourself again. The wet you’d collected from his mouth made you slicker, and that felt good, so you repeated it again. 

This time he wasn’t as surprised, and sucked your fingers wantonly. As you extracted them, you dragged them down his chin, smearing him with his own spit, and as you reapplied the wet to your pussy, you raised yourself up a little and sank down onto three of your fingers.

You moaned more loudly. Beetlejuice shifted underneath you. If it was discomfort, you didn’t care. If it was frustration, you did, but only because you wanted to make it worse. 

He still couldn’t see much of what you were doing, but you make a show of it anyway: moving your hand quickly, then slowing it down. You moaned and arched your back. Once you pulled your hand away and Beetlejuice’s mouth opened automatically to take your fingers in again, but you brought your hand to your own mouth and licked away the taste yourself. That made him groan and shake underneath you. 

Dropping your hand back to your pussy, your fingers easily found the right spot to make you cry out. Curling the first two to hook that special spot inside you, the meat of your palm pressing directly on your clit, you tensed and came with a cry. 

Beetlejuice murmured something, but you couldn’t quite make it out.

“What was that?” you asked.

“I said jesus, baby, that was fucking hot! Why don’t you slide back a little and fuck me--I bet your pussy’s so hot and wet from riding your fingers--”

You glanced behind you and saw his cock was hard and leaking pre-come. It twitched a little.

“No,” you replied. “I don’t want that right now.”

“Then what do you want?” he asked. “You got off with me watching. You’ve got me tied up, so whatever you want, babe. Watching you turned me on so much--”

Truthfully, you were turned on too. It was heady to have him restrained and you sitting on him. You didn’t, however, think that he should get some release just because he wanted it. 

Instead of answering him, you crawled forward over his torso. It took you a second to situate yourself properly, while Beetlejuice grinned in anticipation and licked his teeth below you. You were glad your headboard was sturdy, because you were going to be putting some weight on it to hold yourself upright. 

“Oh baby, you know I love it when you crush my head between your thighs--” Beetlejuice managed to say just before you lowered pussy onto his mouth. 

He didn’t need any instruction. He ate you out like this was a competition: sucking your clit, slipping his tongue as far as it could go inside you, licking and slobbering and moaning all the while. He pulled against the restraints, which, between your cries of pleasure, made you feel an odd stab of power that he was prevented from doing something he wanted.

You couldn’t dwell on it, however, because he seemed bound and determined that you were going to come on his mouth, and quick. 

Beetlejuice continued licking and sucking with abandon, until your throat hurt from crying out. You knew he hadn’t been joking when he said he liked being squeezed between your legs, so you didn’t hold back. When you came, every limb tensed up and you pinned him in place. It was lucky he didn’t need to breathe, or you’d have smothered him. 

When you were finally able to ease back a little, he continued to slip his tongue along your pussy. You took a second to unhook the fingers from one hand off the headboard, and reached down to his head. You gave him a slightly harsh jerk, but not enough to dislodge him.

His eyes caught yours. You couldn’t see his mouth, still deep between your legs, but you felt him nod and from the way his eyes turned up you knew he was smiling. 

“I don’t care if you don’t trust other guys,” you rasped at him, “but you should trust _me.”_

Raising yourself up an iota, you heard him say, 

“I know baby, I know. I trust you, I’ll--”

You didn’t wait to hear what his promise was. You rocked your pelvis back towards him and shoved his face back into your pussy with a tight grip in his hair. 

Vibration from his own moan at the manhandling made you gasp, and you ground down on him harder. 

Primed from the two orgasms you’d already had, it didn’t take much for another to roll over you. Once again, Beetlejuice lapped at you as you shifted away, until you were nowhere in the vicinity of his mouth. 

With sporadic residual shudders, you dropped to the mattress beside him. Your pussy felt swollen and slick, and it throbbed a little. 

“You ain’t gonna help me out with that?” Beetlejuice asked. 

You picked your head up and looked over him. He raised an eyebrow and nodded towards his still hard cock.

“Nope,” you told him, and put your head back down. “You don’t deserve it tonight, after what you did.”

He grumbled and whined, which you were prepared for. Then he truly apologized, which you were not. 

“I’m sorry, babydoll. I got out of control and I shouldn’t have done all that . . . I should’ve trusted you, like you said,” he said sincerely. 

You looked at him again. “I appreciate that.”

“So . . . still no getting me off?” he badgered hopefully again.

“No.”

“Oh come on, please? Please?!”

“No. And you know what? I don’t mind this power stuff in the bedroom, where it’s just you and me, but the extreme possessiveness outside it stops right now. Got it?”

From the minor sulk that crossed his face, you knew he wanted to really argue about it more. But the hard expression on your face made him change his mind.

“All right. I’ll try,” he agreed.

“You have to do more than try. You can’t act like that, Beej!”

Finally, he nodded. You nodded too.

“Now the minor issue of my blue balls, baby . . .”

“No! I’m sure for one night you’ll be fine! It’s been a long night and I’m tired. Maybe tomorrow.”

Beetlejuice grumbled something under his breath, but you didn’t hear it or care. You were sated, and sleepy. After a few moments, he whined, 

“Can you at least let my wrists go?”

You snapped your fingers. The conjured hands disappeared into the ether at your command, and you grinned. The light also obeyed your unspoken command. Some of his ghostly control over the physical world has obviously transferred to you; this might be something you could get used to . . .

The blankets reappeared. Beetlejuice obviously accepted your answer, because he sighed and let you be as you drifted to sleep.

_fin_


End file.
